Mirrors HP
by Casey Toh
Summary: What is Lucius Malfoy truly like, inside? What will happen when he finds out that he loves a Human...a Muggle?
1. One

A/N: This is the first time I'm attempting a HP fic, and with a character as little-known as Lucius Malfoy, so please forgive me if there's anything wrong.

   And please tell me if you wish me to continue, and whether it's good enough.

Disclaimer: The Malfoys and all related characters belong to JK Rowling. No intentional copyright infringement is intended through their use. Characters you don't recognize are mine. Please ask before using them. Thanks.

_"Others are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects something you love or hate about yourself." –Unknown _

**Mirrors**

**One**

   The air was cool and only slightly moist, a shower having just came and passed. The shadows lengthened, and the light of streetlamps was beginning to wink on one by one, their yellow light mingling with the red-yellow of the sun to cast feeble light unto the shadows.

   The streets were just beginning to be cleared of the day crowd of accountants, business-people and doctors, making space for the night crowd that came out only after dark, or were the sorts who lived in the dual world of the sun and moon, staying on the streets as a worker and an enjoyer: street-rats; vagabonds; workers who had finished working for the day.

   Lucius Malfoy walked amongst them in the still sparsely-populated street. His platinum-blonde hair spilling in gentle waves over his shoulders was a stark contrast to the black duster he wore, and the presence of only two colours gave the thought of the distant, cold rays of moonlight shining upon a darkened land, casting an unearthly light in some places but darkening others where those could not reach.

   People walked all about him: Humans. _Mudblood_, he named them. _Filth_. But wait. Or was that term one he used for the wizards and witches of human or mixed descent? He shrugged. He had long forgotten it, for to him, both were as dirtied as the other.

   He continued walking after having paused for only the slightest of moments, always walking in a straight line, firm and arrogant in his steps, unlike the erratic gaits of mere humans. They, for their part, seemed to avoid him, not one of them ever brushing against him in accident as they did with others.

   Lucius smirked. Others in his family or connections did not know that, but he was used to walking amongst the pathetic humans, and did so frequently, leaving his house in the world of magic to the human world, concealed in his departure by magic.

   He hated them, and so walked amongst them, searching for reasons to hate and loathe them even more.

   He had learnt Hate long ago, and gotten so intimate with it it was now part of him. In his youth, he had joined Voldemort, became a Death Eater, because his father had not been appointed the Head of the Ministry of Magic, and thus had no power, but being a Death Eater gave him power; his marriage to Narcissa was forced, and he hated not her, but the shallow 'bond' which they shared but bound him.

   Draco Malfoy was the result of that bond, and he had become like his father in looks and temperament, loathing all but Narcissus and Lucius, and Lucius did not know if he should be glad.

   Hate was all he knew now; Hate was all he loved.

   Lucius smiled at the irony of the words, turning into a poorly-lit alley. It was surprisingly clean and empty of the homeless vagabonds he had expected it to have.

   As he strolled down, he saw some closed doors and dark windows, and some lighted ones. And from a few of them came the soft sounds of laughter borne to him by the wind.

   _So alien_, he thought, and for the first time in a long time, he shivered and pulled the duster more tightly about him as if to keep the lights out, keep the laughter away.

   He continued down the long alleyway, and by then, even the shadows were no more, taken over by darkness. Only the few lone streetlamps that lined the alley at intervals provided him with a beacon and direction in which to move.

   The breeze continued blowing, but this time, Lucius heard noises of pain, of soft crying, and of rage, and his heart leapt to hear those. As a moth drawn to a flame, he searched out the origination of those noises.

   He found it.

   The house stood amongst others of a more dilapidated sort, but still livable in. The door and windows were old but clean and un-spoilt, and he saw a small pot of flowers set upon the sill, out of place in the darkness.

   The windows were open, and through one of them, Lucius saw three figures: a rugged, dirty man in his early forties; a young woman with black hair who looked to be in her early twenties, shielding a young boy who looked no more than thirteen.

   The man held a belt that was old and cracked, and Lucius could see it even from that distance, darkened by patches of what he guessed was blood. As the man raised the belt for another strike, the woman covered the boy's body with hers again, and her face contorted in a silent cry of agony.

   Lucius smirked in satisfaction, and stayed on to watch.

   The boy's face turned to stare out of the window, but he did not see Lucius, so hidden was he in the shadows that even his pale hair did not show.

   And he saw the boy's eyes, so piercing, so intense that Lucius felt as if they could see him. And they pleaded, those eyes pleaded with the darkness, with the God he knew Humans prayed to, with _him_; they begged for release, or for aid, from an angel, a messenger from God, from _someone_.

   Then the man snarled, "What yer lookin' at, boy? Ain't nobody's gonna help yer here!"

   Lucius saw the man's eyes as well—as he turned to look where the boy was staring at—and it was as if he looked into the brown depths of the reflective orbs and saw red, a red that tainted everything in it. And he found that he hated that mirror, and wanted to kill it, destroy it so that it dulled over from the lack of life.

   As the man struck out again, Lucius moved, and the force of his rage gave him strength, and he broke down the door, rushing in like an avenging angel from Hell which he was named after.

   With one strike from his gloved hand, the man laid on the floor unmoving, blood spilling from one cracked lip. But he was merely unconscious and not dead, and Lucius raised a boot to stamp on the man's neck.

   "No!" The woman cried and leapt before him, glaring at him with the same piercing dark eyes of the boy's. "Don't kill him!"

   The gaze was as a sword that disarmed him, and he nodded, leading them out.

   They looked lost and frightened in the darkness, and Lucius led them to a hotel he knew he had seen. He paid for a room and led them in there, never speaking, and they followed him mutely, as if glad for a guide, even if they were wary of him.

   He instructed them to shower, and ordered some food, and as they were out of his sight, left some money to last them a few days, and left.

   As Lucius drove back, ready to return home, he took thought of his mind again and cursed himself. What had he been thinking of, being so nice? Those filthy humans deserved nothing but contempt.

   With another curse, he sped up and flew off in his car.


	2. Two

A/N: I hope that this chapter is all right, as well. And I guess this part is after the second book, in an (slight) AU situation.

_"Others are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects something you love or hate about yourself." –Unknown _

**Mirrors**

**Two**

   Lucius returned home all tired and grim, but the arrogance held its place as he opened the door and strode in, never allowing the weariness to show on his face, for if his servants knew that even the great Lucius Malfoy could get tired, his hold and dominion over them would fail or be greatly diminished.

   HE gestured impatiently for a house elf to take his duster off for cleaning, and went to his room where his wife—tall, blonde and beautiful—laid in bed reading a book on Herbology. Contrary to what her image was to others, she was not dominated by Lucius, or even dim-witted and dull as others perceive her to be.

   "Narcissa," he greeted as he shed his boots, going to the closet for a fresh set of clothes.

   "Lucius." She lowered her book and nodded back, shifting so that her silk robe slid over her firmly-muscled thighs.

   Lucius did not look at her. Yes, he admired her beauty, but it had been long since they had made love, and those times were of mutual needs rather than wants, and he knew that Narcissa had moved her legs merely to un-cramp them.

   He took his clothes into the shower, and let the hot water wash over him. The water was oddly soothing, and he allowed himself a rare moment of peace and vulnerability that he granted himself little anymore.

   He hated his position in the Ministry, which demanded that he made frequent appearances to the board meetings, but it gave him the power and wealth he craved, and his master Voldemort would not be pleased if he were to lose that position.

   Lucius frowned. _Voldemort._His master had been dead for so long, destroyed by that filthy Harry Potter, and was now without a bodily form, and none of them knew where Voldemort was now.

   So why? Why did he still think of remaining loyal to one who was as good as dead? It couldn't be the power, he decided. Voldemort was definitely in no position to give power to any of his followers now.

   So, what then?

   He could think of no answer to his own question, and turned the tap off, toweling himself dry and exiting the bathroom.

   Narcissa was still reading.

   "Filthy muggle book," he spat.

   "It's interesting," Narcissa shot back smoothly without looking at him.

   Lucius grunted his disgust, feeling a rage rise up in him at a muggle item in his house. It gave him one more reason to hate Humans, who polluted his house with their things.

   But Narcissa was a grown woman. If she wanted herself to be destroyed by their filth, he would not stop her.

   He strode to the kitchen, noting that the hallways were dimly-lit and nodded in approval to himself. His dinner was already prepared, and as he sat down, he was already sticky once again from the heat and moisture of the accursed spring weather.

   One annoyance opened a floodgate to the rest, so that his rage grew in him at Narcissa's book, and the unfinished meeting by the Ministry to stop a lunatic wizard.

   Lucius snarled. He hated unfinished business. What he started, he finished, and that was why he remained loyal to Voldemort, he thought.

   As he finished the last of his food, he thought once again of the rogue wizard. In truth, Lucius would like to set that wizard free at Hogwarts, but the Ministry had a certain reputation to maintain, or he would quickly lose the power it held.

   He went quickly to his study, and shifted through the papers on his antique desk, glancing at all the suggested ideas on capturing that man.

   He sighed. It was late, and much as he hated to admit it, he was weary and needed rest. He cursed the weakness of a body of flesh and placed his papers neatly back onto the desk.

   After giving them a smirk, Lucius rose from his seat, ready to go to bed. He raised his head to check that all his things were placed neatly and in order, and his eyes caught on the picture frame at the far end of his table.

   Unlike those of the muggle world, photographs of wizardry moved constantly, like the never-ending playing-rewinding-playing of muggles' videos.

   The intense dark eyes of an eight-year-old Draco gazed back at him, and Lucius reeled to see that those were so similar to the Muggle boy's eyes, and the woman's. For a moment, an image of the boy replaced the half-sneering face of Draco, but the eyes…the eyes were the same.

   Lucius growled softly. Another unfinished business: the two Muggles he had saved a few days earlier. He had left them in the hotel with some money, but he did not know their fates.

   _Darn all the unfinished businesses!_ He _had_ to finish them, for being in the Ministry and a Death Eater taught him that things left unfinished returned to haunt their starters, and could become a danger.

   He shook his head in defeat. He would go to the Ministry tomorrow and then back to the world of muggles again to look for the boy and the woman.


	3. Three

**Mirrors**

Three:

_"Others are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects something you love or hate about yourself." –Unknown_

   Lucius checked with the hotel. The young woman and the boy had checked out after four days, and left no number for anyone to call, nor had they left any message for him. 

   He walked out of the hotel, disgusted. He hadn't really expected any thanks, but this Muggle was just following the tradition of ungratefulness amongst their kind.

   Lucius shook his head and walked along the streets. Even though it was day, the streets were not crowded, and people still seemed to avoid him as they passed him.

   He walked about without aim, his black duster folded neatly over his arm, and he went to the park that was nearby, almost sure to be free of Muggles at that time of the day.

   He did pass a few vagabonds who slept on the benches, and Lucius went past them with no feeling of pity. He walked on, weaving his way on the pathways, almost coming to the exit of another entrance to the park when he saw a small figure with messy black hair on a bench. It seemed familiar somewhat.

   He approached it, and with the tip of his cane, pushed back some of the hair from the face.

   It instantly stirred and jumped up, dark eyes glaring at him. "You!"

   It was indeed the young lady he had saved, though he shuddered to use such a word. He crossed his arms and smirked. "Me, what? Do you not remember me, or is it a surprise to see me after leaving with no gratitude?"

   Her face reddened slightly, but she straightened herself, defiant. "You didn't leave us any name or address or number! How do you expect gratitude? By magic?"

   He stepped forward till he towered over her, and his voice was low and husky as he answered, "Possibly." It did not give away what he was, but served to infuriate her further.

   "Yeah, right!" She snapped. "You want gratitude? Fine!" She rose and steadied her tone, keeping the rage from her voice, and said in a (mockingly) polite tone, "My sincerest thanks, Mister."

   Instead of responding to her, Lucius said, "Where is the other one with you? The kid?" He was more interested in the boy than this woman, wishing to know why he had responded to the plea by those dark eyes some time ago.

   She paused for a moment, wary, then as if she figured she needed to do something for her benefactor, said slowly, "My brother's at Joe's Diner, working."

   Lucius raised a brow. "And why is _he_ working and not _you_?"

   "They wouldn't hire me," she muttered, more to herself. "Said that they'd have to pay me more with the same amount of work done."

   "Let's go."

   "Where?"

   "To the diner. I wish to see just what your brother is doing."

   "Hey, you crazy?" She cried out as he grabbed her wrist and dragged her along.

   He did not answer, but strode through the park. She had to jog slightly to match his pace, but she had ceased her struggles, afraid of attracting too much attention to herself.

   Within ten minutes, they came to Joe's Diner. The place was filled with tables and chairs instead of booths, looking more like a place where teens hung out than for proper dining for someone with power and status like Lucius. Nevertheless, he pulled her in, and the few customers there were quickly averted their gazes as the two entered.

   As they sat down, she ran her hands through her hair in an attempt to tidy them, and Lucius found that action strangely intriguing and he gazed at her for a moment before signaling for someone.

   A tall, middle-aged man came over, holding a menu, notepad and a pencil. He saw the young lady and gave a grimace that was hidden quickly, but Lucius saw it. He put on a polite smile for Lucius, for the latter could be seen as a rich man from a mile away.

   "Good afternoon, sir…miss." The man stumbled over the word for a moment. "What would you like to have?"

   Lucius took the menu from the man, holding it out to the lady, but she shook her head and refused to take it. Lucius scanned the menu quickly.

   "Steak," he said.

   "No," she spoke quickly. "A burger's enough."

   He frowned at the choice of food as he handed the menu back. "Steak," he repeated, waving the man away.

   The lady looked worried and desperate, and he laughed to see that. "What?" he mocked. "You're afraid of eating a _steak_?"

   Her lost looks was replaced by one of flaming rage as her dark eyes met his, and Lucius was a little surprised to find that keen glare uncomfortably familiar. "What are you trying to do? First, you take me away from the life I know, and I can't go back. Now, you try to humiliate me?"

   "Do you really want to return to the life you know?" He laughed again as he saw the pain of her memories of her 'old' life on her face, conflicting with her pride.

   "You darn piece of shit!" She hissed.

   But he did not hear her insult, for at that moment, the boy—her brother—came over with a plate of steak and a drink, surprised at seeing his sister and Lucius. He smiled.

   "Hi, sis." He set the plate down. "Hello, Mister. Thank you for helping us the other time." He grinned.

   Lucius found that bright, open grin somewhat familiar and refreshing, and smiled back. "What is your name, kid?"

   The boy frowned. "Sis didn't tell you?" He glanced over at the young woman. "I'm Michael Da—" He hesitated. "Just _Michael._ My sis is Cynthia."

**   "**Cynthia…" Lucius drawled, smirking at her. "You don't suit that name."

   "What the—?"

   "You've got much more character than that name gives you."

   Cynthia stopped in mid-sentence, shutting her open mouth with a snap. She glared at him and did not touch the food.

   "Hey sis," Michael said, "you're not going to eat?"

   "It's all right, Michael. Bring her a…burger." As the boy nodded and walked away, Lucius cursed, "Darn Muggle food."

   "What 'Muggle'?"

   "You don't have to know."

   "Fine!"

   As he waited for the burger to arrive, Lucius rose and walked to the counter, and seeing the tall man that had taken their order earlier, he snapped out, "Who is in charge?"

   "I'm the boss here," the man answered with a puzzled frown. "Why?" He did not wish to offend a customer, but he was wary.

   "I want you to give a job to Michael's sister."

   "What? Are you crazy? She'll need a lo—!"

   "Hire her." Lucius's voice was hard, and his dark eyes bore coldly into the man's eyes so that even though they were of the same height, the man seemed dwarfed.

   "A-all right. Whatever y-you say."

   "It would have done you well to obey the first time," Lucius hissed softly. "I will return to see how she does." It was a warning not to ill-treat Cynthia.

   The man only nodded numbly and Lucius returned to his seat.

   Michael came with a burger and gave it to his sister. Cynthia shot him a dark look before taking it.

   "Oh yeah, we haven't asked for your name, Mister."

   "Lucius—" There was a slight hesitation on Lucius's part as he realized he had spoken too quickly. "—Malfoy."

   "Thanks." Michael smiled again and went off.

   There was silence as Lucius and Cynthia ate, and it was halfway through his meal (and he kept snarling to himself that he was eating _Muggle_ food) that three people entering caught his attention.

   They saw him as well and froze, and Ron Weasley tugged on Harry Potter's sleeve as if suggesting they leave. But Hermione Granger just turned her face away and directed her friends to a table.

   Michael took their orders, and Lucius was drawn to the smile on his face and the twinkle in his eyes. It had been too long since he had seen such open and honest feelings, such a big change from the desperately pleading look the youth had had.

   An idea struck him, and he rose again, walking over to the three teens' table as Michael turned to go. Lucius allowed himself to smile at the teen before he turned to face the three, who were all tensed, hatred and fear plain on their faces.

   "Ah…Miss Granger," he said, voice silky smooth. "I wish to speak with you."

   Hermione turned her face away. "I'm not going to."

   Lucius's demeanor seemed to harden without any change in his expression. "If you would not care to use your magic against mine, you would do well to listen."

   The young girl looked worried as Harry Potter rose and faced Lucius squarely. "You can't do it. It's against the rule of the Ministry of Magic to use our powers here."

   "Y-yeah!" Ron stammered bravely.

   "_I_ make the rules, Potter."

   "Fine." Hermione's voice was tight. "He can't do anything with so many people watching, anyway." She rose and walked over to a corner where she was still in full view of everyone, and Lucius went to her.

   Harry and Ron stared anxiously as they saw Hermione's expression change from angry to shocked to skeptical before she finally nodded. As she returned to her friends, Lucius went to his table, picked up his duster, spoke to Cynthia briefly and left.

   Five pairs of eyes watched him leave, and Hermione said, "Guys, I don't quite feel like eating here anymore. Why don't we go elsewhere?"

   "Herm, are you all right?" Harry asked.

   "Yes, I'm fine! Go out! I need to make a call."

   As the girl hurried away, Ron asked, "She needs to use the fellytone again?"

   "_Telephone_, Ron."

   They saw Hermione make her call, then walk to the young woman whom Lucius had spoken to, speaking to her for a long time, before both nodded and Hermione left with them.

   But she remained tight-lipped and wouldn't say anything, insisting firmly that Lucius did not threaten her. But they could get nothing else out of her.


End file.
